


A Johnlock Christmas

by mktellstales



Series: Now Kiss for Science [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU- Teenagers, Christmas, Crack (Kind of), Doctor Who Crossover (Kind of), Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mycroft is weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 07:49:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2843594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mktellstales/pseuds/mktellstales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock are sleeping on a peaceful Christmas Eve when they hear a strange kind of sound coming from outside the window of Baker Street.</p><p>When John goes to check it out, he and Sherlock end up on an adventure they're likely never to forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Johnlock Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> We asked our page, Now Kiss for Science for prompts, because we were feeling adventurous. They gave us:
> 
> Teenlock  
> John having a picture of Sherlock in a Santa hat  
> Mycroft sneaking up on them and saying Johnlock  
> In the Tardis.
> 
> This is what we made of it.

It was a quiet Christmas Eve. The fire was fading behind the glass, and the dying crackle was one of the few noises that could be heard throughout the flat at Baker Street. The festivities of the night ended long ago, a mess of glasses and wrapping paper that could be left for the morning was scattered, the occupants too tired, too high on the warm brandy in their veins to care.

Sherlock was curled in his bed, black socks peeking out from underneath his heavy blankets, his pillow smothered by his face and his wild curls.

In the sitting room, John had his legs outstretched, toes teasing at the leather of the chair across from him, and his chin resting on his chest, and his hands on his thighs.

Upstairs, Mycroft, the only of the guests to not make it home, was passed out on the bed meant for John.

It was peaceful.

So when there was a noise outside the window, quiet but odd, it stirred John awake. They were new to the flat, new to the area; two almost adults on their own for the first time.  He stretched the stiff limbs of his upper body, reeled his feet in, and stood to follow the dissipating sound.

He pushed the curtains from his way, and squinted at the snowy street below.

It was hard to make out what exactly was on the street as the snow still continued to graciously fall. The thin coat of white shrouded the window which impaired his vision greatly. As he peered over his shoulder, he saw Sherlock peacefully asleep inside his bed. John contemplated to himself whether or not to wake him- but he soon decided against it. This was something he would be able to sort out on his own.

He put on a warm jacket and gloves before slowly sneaking past Sherlock’s bed. He took extra care not to wake him, because he knew if he were to awaken to John sneaking out of the house, a million questions would be asked, and not one answer would have a logical answer.

As the door to Baker street quietly closed, John continued down the short path to the outside of his window. And that was when he saw it- a big blue box, with the sign police on it.

“Huh?” John said to himself as he slowly approached the huge box. He found himself gazing up at its magnificence as his fingers slowly caressed its wooden surface.

“Where did you come from?” he said again.

The blue box was nothing special. Just wood with a few small signs on the two front doors. But the question was: where did it come from? That’s all John cared about. It wasn’t here before, and why was it here now? That sound which came from it reverberated through his body and echoed. He didn’t know what it was, but he was determined to find out.

John ran his fingers along the wood. It was splintered and cracked in some places, and the blue stain was starting to fade, but that made it all the more beautiful.

He walked around to the front, and found the handle. He gave it a tug, but it wouldn't open.

"Must be locked." he muttered to himself, and looked around to see if there was anyone nearby.

Someone had to have brought it there- it couldn't just show up on its  own. There wasn't a sign of anyone, not even footprints in the snow aside from his own.

There was nothing, aside from him and the big blue box.

He started another walk around it, and his eye caught sight of something glimmering underneath his shoes. He bent down, and picked up a key.

Figuring that it had to belong to the box, he went back to the front and found the lock. He heard a click, and opened the door, but when he looked inside, he immediately closed it.

"I'm dreaming aren't I? This is a brandy induced nightmare."

He opened the door again, and this time stepped inside.

What was a tiny box on the outside, was a gigantic mission control on the inside.

How was that possible?

John stepped back out, and locked the door. He ran from the box, slipping on some ice as he went, and back into the flat, into Sherlock's room.

"Sherlock!" he yelled, pulling at his covers.

"Sherlock!"

"What? He asked, trying to pull his covers back up to his neck.

"There's something outside. You have to come see."

"You're drunk, John. Go back to sleep."

"That may be, but there really is something out there."

Sherlock threw his blanket off, and lazily sat up.

"For God's sake, what are you going on about?"

"Just, come with me."

John grabbed at Sherlock's hand and pulled him from the bed.

The two of them ran outside together hand in hand, and the blue box was still there. Good. That means John wasn’t imagining things and he would be able to prove to Sherlock that what he saw was no ordinary phone box.

“You dragged me out of bed for this?” Sherlock grunted as he ran his fingers through his thick, black curls. “It’s a box, John.”

“Yes. It’s a box. Why is it here?”

Sherlock yawned as he shrugged his shoulders. “I really don’t know. And I really couldn’t care right now. I was sleeping, John. It’s snowing out here, and I’m cold. I’m going back to bed. Are you coming?”

John desperately tugged at Sherlock’s arm to keep him there. Anything to stop him from going back inside that apartment. “No! You can’t go. Not yet. Just give me two minutes. I need to show you the inside.”

“John-”

“Two minutes, Sherlock. Please.” John pleaded, trying his utmost to make Sherlock believe him.

Sherlock sighed as his feet slowly trotted through the snow. He came closer to the blue box, with John right behind. As his fingers slowly ran over the blue grain, he noticed the silver key in John’s hand.

“May I have it?” Sherlock asked, taking the key out of John's fingertips before he even had the chance to answer.

The blue door clicked open as Sherlock turned the key. As he pushed it open, the monstrosity revealed itself- causing Sherlock’s eyes to widen in awe.

“John..” Sherlock hesitantly began. “What is this?”

“See..I told you. I’m not imagining things. You see it too.”

“Yes. I do see it. But what is it?”

The sound of footsteps slowly walked through the snow and approached from behind. It caused the two of them to swiftly spin on the heels of their feet, only to come face to face with a darkened figure lurking in the darkness.

“It’s a time machine.” the voice stated, coming to a sudden halt.

The snow in the air slowly drifted down into their hair as the figure came into contact with the moonlit earth. It sent a shiver down John’s spine, scattering invisible goosebumps over the surface of his skin.

“Mycroft...what are you doing here?” Sherlock spat almost as if it were in disgust. “Go back to sleep brother.”

Mycroft made a tsking noise as he slowly dawdled closer towards the two teenage boys.

“I have one thing to say to you Sherlock Holmes” Mycroft said as his mouth slowly glided along the rim of his cheekbones, fitting into the crevice of his ear.

“And..tell me...what would that be?” Sherlock snarled as he clasped his fists tighter together by his side, peering at John out of the corner of his eye.

Mycroft smirked as his mouth slowly opened. His hand grasped itself around Sherlock’s pajama shirt, yanking at it before he spoke.

“Johnlock.” he slyly whispered before pulling away.

Sherlock’s face showed not just confusion, but confliction. “Johnlock?” he asked, prompting Mycroft for a reply. “What does that mean?”

Mycroft spun on the heels of his black leather shoes and twirled his umbrella in the snow as it continued to gently fall on them.

“It means, dearest brother, that the letter F doesn’t stand for friendship.”

“I-I don’t understand. W-what does it stand for then?”

Mycroft soon gave a wink as he smirked. He left the scene without a word. Leaving both Sherlock and John in a confused mess.

John scrubbed his hand against the back of his neck. “What was he going on about?”

“I have no idea. I think he’s lost his mind.”

“Perhaps we all have. Otherwise, how do you explain this thing?”

“I don’t know, John, but I’m sure there is a perfectly logical explanation for it. Now, come back inside with me. Please.”

The small plea from Sherlock was almost enough to make John forget about the big blue box in the middle of the street, but not quite.

“You go. I’m going to take a look around some more.”

John opened the door again, and stepped inside. He shook his head at how magnificent and large it was. Everything was copper and blue, and utterly foreign. He ran his fingers along knobs and buttons and levers. He heard the door open and close, and turned to see Sherlock, his arms crossed over his chest, and the very picture of annoyed.

“Your brother said it’s a time machine.”

“My brother is drunk; I think we’ve established that.”

“Well, tell me, then, what is it?”

“It’s nothing!” Sherlock yelled.

He stormed up the steps, and started to press down the buttons, and pull on the levers. Each one made a noise, or let out some kind of steam. John stood back, and Sherlock did too as the box started to rock and make some sort of groaning noise. They looked around, and at each other as the noise grew louder, and then started to fade away.

“See.” Sherlock said at the silence. “It’s nothing. Mycroft probably had it sent here as some kind of joke. He has a terrible sense of humour. Now come on, and please come inside with me.”

“Why are you so adamant that I go back inside with you? If you don’t want to be out here, then go. I wasn’t aware you needed an escort.”

“John, I’m not just asking you to come back inside the flat, I’m asking you to-”

“Johnlock.”

Both John and Sherlock jumped at Mycroft’s whispered voice in their ears. But as soon as they turned to find him, he was gone.

“This is ridiculous.” Sherlock shouted. “I am going inside. By myself.”

Sherlock strided down to the door, and pulled on the handle. He was about to take another step, back onto the snowy pavement, so he could go inside, back in in his warm bed, and forget all about this crazy dream he’s stepped into, but there is no snow, no pavement, and no building.

The only thing outside the door is bright, twinkling lights surrounded by vast and never ending darkness.

Sherlock could only widen his eyes in shock as his jaw gaped open. He had no words for what he was seeing. Every logical thing he knew slipped away, leaving nothing but cluelessness in its wake.

John could see past Sherlock’s shoulders, he could see the stars and the everlasting darkness. They were in the middle of it- with nowhere to go, and no humanity to be seen for miles.

“J-John..are we in...space?” Sherlock somehow managed to stutter as his eyes still followed the vast universe.

“I-I don’t know. I mean...how? How is this physically possible? If we’re in space...we shouldn’t even be breathing right now. Oxygen is nonexistent up here….and without oxygen we’re dead..”

“Are we dead?” Sherlock asked.

“Us? Dead? I-I don’t think so.”

“You’re not dead.” A clear but distinct voice sounded from behind, causing the two teenagers to spin on their feet.

“Mycroft! What are you doing here?” Sherlock spat as he slammed the blue door shut.

“I’m here to save you.” Mycroft said. “I’m here to save the both of you. You always seem to get yourself into trouble. It’s usually unintentional- I know.”

“I don’t need your help. We’re perfectly capable of saving ourselves, thank you very much.”

“Sherlock..you’re in space. This is a time machine. Get it through your thick head that you don’t know how this magnificent machine works.”

“What? And you do?”

“A matter of fact...yes. I do.”

Sherlock furrowed his brow as he paced towards his brother. His hands took hold of the collar of the black blazer he was wearing as his eyes death stared him. Staring into him as if his eyes were a reflection of his soul.

“One thing brother...tell me one thing...how?”

“How what? How do I know that this is a time machine? Why aren’t I afraid of it? Be specific Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s grasp tightened as his breath scattered across the surface of Mycroft’s skin. “Just tell me...how.”

Mycroft sighed as he pushed his brother’s hands away from his chest. He placatingly dusted his collar, straightening out before he spoke.

“Well, the instruction manual would help but it’s previous owner threw the manual into a supernova. That helped a lot…”

“Previous owner? Are you telling me you used to know who owned this thing? Are you telling me you brought this to me on purpose!?”

“Merry Christmas, Sherlock. You know...there’s one thing he used to call it if I recall correctly..”

“Yeah? And what would that be?”

Mycroft smirked as he twirled on the heels of his shoes. His umbrella spun on his fingers as he paced around the console. “A snog box. He used to call it a snog box. He was a funny man...bow ties, fezzes. Yeah, they’re cool.”

“What on earth are you going on about?” John intervened, the two brother’s almost forgetting he was there over their bickering.

Mycroft let out a light breathed chuckle as he froze in front of the console. He stared up at the bizarre symbols above while he spoke. “Johnlock my dear friend- Johnlock.” he said.

Just as Sherlock was about to speak, Mycroft walked away not to be harassed with any questions. He walked down the long hallway, soon to disappear inside the darkness of neverending rooms.

John stared off into the distance, being unsure as to how to take all of this in. He soon shook his head back into reality staring at Sherlock’s ragged mess of curls and his piercing blue eyes.

A smile escaped John’s mouth as his fingers traced the console. Sherlock seemed confused. He didn’t know why John was happy. Because all he wanted was to be somewhere familiar again. All he wanted was to be home.

* * *

"It's not so bad, is it? Kind of pretty." John said.

"Pretty?" Sherlock slammed the door, and marched up to the console to be next to John.

"Yeah, it's space; stars, galaxies. When would we ever have had the chance for this?"

Sherlock stared back at John, and for a moment, John thought that he might lean in and kiss him.

"Give me your phone." he said instead of pressing his perfectly bowed lips against John's.

"My phone?"

"Yes. I left mine in the flat. Light years away it would seem."

John rolled his eyes, and dipped into the pocket of his dressing gown to pull out his mobile.  He started to punch in the password, but Sherlock snatched it from his hands before he had the chance.

"What is this?" Sherlock asked, turning it around to show John his own lock screen.

"Its a picture of you."

"I don't recall ever wearing a Santa hat."

John took the phone from him, and clutched it in his fist close to his chest.

"I put it on you. Last Christmas."

"In my sleep and then took a picture?"

John laughed, "Relatively tame compared to some things you've snuck into my room for."

Sherlock flashed a smirk, and let out a deep chuckle, his shoulders slumping and body doubling over in defeat of the situation.

"We have to be dreaming." he said, wiping a tear away from his eye.

John grabbed his hand and pulled him down from the platform and to the door. He opened it, sat down and patted the space next to him.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but sat down next to him anyway.

They looked out at the stars together, bright balls of yellow fire older than the world itself.

"If it is a dream," John said, "I think I'd like to stay asleep forever."

"Mmm."

"Hey, Sherlock?"

Sherlock turned his attention away from the cosmos before his eyes, and found his mouth captured by another. John's hands threaded through the hair at the nape of Sherlock's neck, twisting the curls around his fingers.

John pulled away with a smile, his hand still on the back of Sherlock's head, and their foreheads together.

"Johnlock." he whispered, and kissed Sherlock again.


End file.
